Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Mary Meehan and the Online DistributedProofreading Team.
DEAD MEN'S MONEY
BY J.S. FLETCHER
1920
CONTENTS
I THE ONE-EYED MAN
II THE MIDNIGHT MISSION
III THE RED STAIN
IV THE MURDERED MAN
V THE BRASS-BOUND CHEST
VI MR. JOHN PHILLIPS
VII THE INQUEST ON JOHN PHILLIPS
VIII THE PARISH REGISTERS
IX THE MARINE-STORE DEALER
X THE OTHER WITNESS
XI SIGNATURES TO THE WILL
XII THE SALMON GAFF
XIII SIR GILBERT CARSTAIRS
XIV DEAD MAN'S MONEY
XV FIVE HUNDRED A YEAR
XVI THE MAN IN THE CELL
XVII THE IRISH HOUSEKEEPER
XVIII THE ICE AX
XIX MY TURN
XX THE SAMARITAN SKIPPER
XXI MR. GAVIN SMEATON
XXII I READ MY OWN OBITUARY
XXIII FAMILY HISTORY
XXIV THE SUIT OF CLOTHES
XXV THE SECOND DISAPPEARANCE
XXVI MRS. RALSTON OF CRAIG
XXVII THE BANK BALANCE
XXVIII THE HATHERCLEUGH BUTLER
XXIX ALL IN ORDER
XXX THE CARSTAIRS MOTTO
XXXI NO TRACE
XXXII THE LINK
XXXIII THE OLD TOWER
XXXIV THE BARGAIN
XXXV THE SWAG
XXXVI GOLD
XXXVII THE DARK POOL
CHAPTER I
THE ONE-EYED MAN
The very beginning of this affair, which involved me, before I was awareof it, in as much villainy and wickedness as ever man heard of, was, ofcourse, that spring evening, now ten years ago, whereon I looked out ofmy mother's front parlour window in the main street of Berwick-upon-Tweedand saw, standing right before the house, a man who had a black patchover his left eye, an old plaid thrown loosely round his shoulders, andin his right hand a stout stick and an old-fashioned carpet-bag. Hecaught sight of me as I caught sight of him, and he stirred, and made atonce for our door. If I had possessed the power of seeing more than theobvious, I should have seen robbery, and murder, and the very devilhimself coming in close attendance upon him as he crossed the pavement.But as it was, I saw nothing but a stranger, and I threw open the windowand asked the man what he might be wanting.
"Lodgings!" he answered, jerking a thickly made thumb at a paper which mymother had that day set in the transom above the door. "Lodgings! You'velodgings to let for a single gentleman. I'm a single gentleman, and Iwant lodgings. For a month--maybe more. Money no object. Thoroughrespectability--on my part. Few needs and modest requirements. Not likelyto give trouble. Open the door!"
I went into the passage and opened the door to him. He strode in withoutas much as a word, and, not waiting for my invitation, lurchedheavily--he was a big, heavy-moving fellow--into the parlour, where heset down his bag, his plaid, and his stick, and dropping into an easychair, gave a sort of groan as he looked at me.
"And what's your name?" he demanded, as if he had all the right in theworld to walk into folks' houses and ask his questions. "Whatever it is,you're a likely-looking youngster!"
"My name's Hugh Moneylaws," I answered, thinking it no harm to humourhim. "If you want to know about lodgings you must wait till my mothercomes in. Just now she's away up the street--she'll be back presently."
"No hurry, my lad," he replied. "None whatever. This is a comfortableanchorage. Quiet. Your mother'll be a widow woman, now?"
"Yes," said I shortly.
"Any more of you--brothers and sisters?" he asked. "Any--aye, ofcourse!--any young children in the house? Because young children is whatI cannot abide--except at a distance."
"There's nobody but me and my mother, and a servant lass," I said. "Thisis a quiet enough house, if that's what you mean."
"Quiet is the word," said he. "Nice, quiet, respectable lodgings. Inthis town of Berwick. For a month. If not more. As I say, a comfortableanchorage. And time, too!--when you've seen as many queer places as Ihave in my day, young fellow, you'll know that peace and quiet is meatand drink to an ageing man."
It struck me as I looked at him that he was just the sort of man that youwould expect to hear of as having been in queer places--a sort of gnarledand stubbly man, with a wealth of seams and wrinkles about his face andwhat could be seen of his neck, and much grizzled hair, and an eye--onlyone being visible--that looked as if it had been on the watch ever sincehe was born. He was a fellow of evident great strength and stout muscle,and his hands, which he had clasped in front of him as he sat talking tome, were big enough to go round another man's throat, or to fell abullock. And as for the rest of his appearance, he had gold rings in hisears, and he wore a great, heavy gold chain across his waistcoat, and wasdressed in a new suit of blue serge, somewhat large for him, that he hadevidently purchased at a ready-made-clothing shop, not so long before.
My mother came quietly in upon us before I could reply to the stranger'slast remark, and I saw at once that he was a man of some politeness andmanners, for he got himself up out of his chair and made her a sort ofbow, in an old-fashioned way. And without waiting for me, he let histongue loose on her.
"Servant, ma'am," said he. "You'll be the lady of the house--Mrs.Moneylaws. I'm seeking lodgings, Mrs. Moneylaws, and seeing your paperat the door-light, and your son's face at the window, I came in. Nice,quiet lodgings for a few weeks is what I'm wanting--a bit of plaincooking--no fal-lals. And as for money--no object! Charge me what youlike, and I'll pay beforehand, any hand, whatever's convenient."
My mother, a shrewd little woman, who had had a good deal to do since myfather died, smiled at the corners of her mouth as she looked thewould-be lodger up and down.
"Why, sir," said she. "I like to know who I'm taking in. You're astranger in the place, I'm thinking."
"Fifty years since I last clapped eyes on it, ma'am," he answered. "And Iwas then a youngster of no more than twelve years or so. But as to whoand what I am--name of James Gilverthwaite. Late master of as good a shipas ever a man sailed. A quiet, respectable man. No swearer. Nodrinker--saving in reason and sobriety. And as I say--money no object,and cash down whenever it's wanted. Look here!"
He plunged one of the big hands into a trousers' pocket, and pulled itout again running over with gold. And opening his fingers he extendedthe gold-laden palm towards us. We were poor folk at that time, and itwas a strange sight to us, all that money lying in the man's hand, andhe apparently thinking no more of it than if it had been a heap ofsix-penny pieces.
"Help yourself to whatever'll pay you for a month," he exclaimed. "Anddon't be afraid--there's a lot more where that came from."
But my mother laughed, and motioned him to put up his money.
"Nay, nay, sir!" said she. "There's no need. And all I'm asking at you isjust to know who it is I'm taking in. You'll be having business in thetown for a while?"
"Not business in the ordinary sense, ma'am," he answered. "But there'skin of mine lying in more than one graveyard just by, and it's a fancy ofmy own to take a look at their resting-places, d'ye see, and to wanderround the old quarters where they lived. And while I'm doing that, it's aquiet, and respectable, and a comfortable lodging I'm wanting."
I could see that the sentiment in his speech touched my mother, who wasfond of visiting graveyards herself, and she turned to Mr. JamesGilverthwaite with a nod of acquiescence.
"Well, now, what
might you be wanting in the way of accommodation?" sheasked, and she began to tell him that he could have that parlour in whichthey were talking, and the bedchamber immediately above it. I left themarranging their affairs, and went into another room to attend to some ofmy own, and after a while my mother came there to me. "I've let him therooms, Hugh," she said, with a note of satisfaction in her voice whichtold me that the big man was going to pay well for them. "He's a greatbear of a man to look at," she went on, "but he seems quiet andcivil-spoken. And here's a ticket for a chest of his that he's left up atthe railway station, and as he's tired, maybe you'll get somebodyyourself to fetch it down for him?"
I went out to a man who lived close by and had a light cart, and sent himup to the station with the ticket for the chest; he was back with itbefore long, and I had to help him carry it up to Mr. Gilverthwaite'sroom. And never had I felt or seen a chest like that before, nor had theman who had fetched it, either. It was made of some very hard and darkwood, and clamped at all the corners with brass, and underneath it therewere a couple of bars of iron, and though it was no more than two and ahalf feet square, it took us all our time to lift it. And when, under Mr.Gilverthwaite's orders, we set it down on a stout stand at the side ofhis bed, there it remained until--but to say until when would beanticipating.
Now that he was established in our house, the new lodger proved himselfall that he had said. He was a quiet, respectable, sober sort of man,giving no trouble and paying down his money without question or murmurevery Saturday morning at his breakfast-time. All his days were passed inpretty much the same fashion. After breakfast he would go out--you mightsee him on the pier, or on the old town walls, or taking a walk acrossthe Border Bridge; now and then we heard of his longer excursions intothe country, one side or other of the Tweed. He took his dinner in theevenings, having made a special arrangement with my mother to thateffect, and a very hearty eater he was, and fond of good things, whichhe provided generously for himself; and when that episode of the day'sevents was over, he would spend an hour or two over the newspapers, ofwhich he was a great reader, in company with his cigar and his glass. AndI'll say for him that from first to last he never put anything out, andwas always civil and polite, and there was never a Saturday that he didnot give the servant-maid a half-crown to buy herself a present.
All the same--we said it to ourselves afterwards, though not at thetime--there was an atmosphere of mystery about Mr. Gilverthwaite. He madeno acquaintance in the town. He was never seen in even brief conversationwith any of the men that hung about the pier, on the walls, or by theshipping. He never visited the inns, nor brought anybody in to drink andsmoke with him. And until the last days of his lodging with us he neverreceived a letter.
A letter and the end of things came all at once. His stay had lengthenedbeyond the month he had first spoken of. It was in the seventh week ofhis coming that he came home to his dinner one June evening, complainingto my mother of having got a great wetting in a sudden storm that hadcome on that afternoon while he was away out in the country, and nextmorning he was in bed with a bad pain in his chest, and not over wellable to talk. My mother kept him in his bed and began to doctor him; thatday, about noon, came for him the first and only letter he ever had whilehe was with us--a letter that came in a registered envelope. Theservant-maid took it up to him when it was delivered, and she said laterthat he started a bit when he saw it. But he said nothing about it to mymother during that afternoon, nor indeed to me, specifically, when, lateron, he sent for me to go up to his room. All the same, having heard ofwhat he had got, I felt sure that it was because of it that, when I wentin to him, he beckoned me first to close the door on us and then to comeclose to his side as he lay propped on his pillow.
"Private, my lad!" he whispered hoarsely. "There's a word I have for youin private!"